Rum Balls Are Better Than Eggnog
by mearcats
Summary: When Emma met Killian! It's not love at first sight, but can they become friends and save the eggnog?


Emma took a deep, fortifying breath at the door to her brother's and soon-to-be sister-in-law's apartment, holding a tray of lasagna. Adjusting her grip on the entree, she knocked. It had been years since she'd seen David and Mary Margaret, but she was eager to renew their relationship with her recent move to Storybrooke. She was just nervous. Just a couple months ago, she'd been planning her wedding to Walsh...that duplicitous bastard who'd not only cheated on her but distanced her from her family. She pushed her dark thoughts from her mind.

The seconds ticked by as she waited. Feeling increasingly awkward, Emma checked the text she'd gotten from David to verify the address. Having done so, she tremulously opened the door and walked in.

"David? Mary Margaret? Are you guys - oh god, what is that smell?!"

Striding purposefully into the kitchen, she stopped suddenly in the archway. A strange, very intoxicated man was swaying and humming over the noxious mixture on the stove.

Emma took a closer look at the drunk man. He would have been almost too pretty with his dark hair and blue eyes had it not been for the scruff on his face. He was slender, maybe half a head taller than her. She shook her head. This was not police business, even if the interloper's presence in her brother's apartment _was_ suspect.

Emma cleared her throat. "Who the hell are you? And what in god's name are you concocting over there? Satan's deodorant?!"

With a somewhat theatrical turn and a start of surprise, Sir Drinks-a-Lot turned to Emma. His eyes widened and then darkened as they swept over her body.

Bowing with a flourish, the hoodlum introduced himself, "I am Killian Jones, my lady. And what is your moniker, lass?"

Emma noticed the open bottle of rum (that was nearly empty). "I'm a sheriff, pal, and that's all you need to know until you can explain to me what the hell you're doing in my brother's apartment. And until you dispose of that heinous scent."

"Ah, you must be Dave's step-sister. Emma Swan...he neglected to mention how sinfully lovely you are," the drunk man - Killian, that's right - replied.

Letting out a sigh of relief that the melodramatic weirdo at least knew David, Emma set down the lasagna on the counter and crossed her arms. "So, Killian, how do you know my brother?"

"You don't know? I'm positively wounded that he hasn't told you about his dashing neighbor and best friend."

"We didn't talk for a while, and even if we did, I don't know that he would have confided in me about Captain Morgan."

Killian sputtered, "Captain Morgan! The idiot who graces subpar grocery store rum-well, I _never_."

"Who would you rather? Captain Crunch? But even breakfast cereal is better than whatever disgusting crap you're brewing over there. What is that supposed to be anyway?"

"Ah, love, 'tis eggnog, the festive treat for the most wonderful time of the year. But I seem to have made some sort of horrible mistake."

"No shit, Sherlock." Peering over the side of the pot, Emma asked, "It looks like maybe the milk was rancid. And are those whole egg shells? Just how drunk are you?"

"Not drunk enough to fail to appreciate how stunning you are, Swan," he leered. "What I do fail to appreciate is Dave keeping your beauty a secret. Not even a glimpse of a picture..."

That was it. Emma had had it with this buffoon. She turned away from the disgusting "eggnog" and slapped Killian Jones as hard as she could. He staggered and fell to the floor, looking confused.

Seething, her eyes burning with fury, she ground out a warning, "Look, asshole, I don't know why my brother is friends with you, and now I don't want to. But if you ever look at me like that again, I will make you regret the day you were born."

He scoffed. "You wouldn't be the first, love. Now I swear upon my honor to not ogle you again if you'll give me a hand, I'd be much obliged."

Emma considered the drunken Irishman. Finally, she nodded and helped him off the floor. Grabbing the pan of the eggnog mixture, she emptied it into the disposal. Killian stumbled to his feet and finally turned to face her, looking ashamed. "Swan, I apologize for my rude behavior. It was- it's bad form, and I don't stand for that. Er, unless you need my help in here, I think I'm going to have a bit of a lie-down until Dave and Mary Margaret get back."

Almost half an hour later, Emma had cleaned up the mess in the kitchen and started on no-bake rum balls (there was just enough of the stuff left for them). There had been only silence from the spare room, to her relief.

The door scraped open. Low tones and laughter reached Emma's ears, and she wiped her hands on the dish towel before heading to greet David and Mary Margaret.

"Emma!" There was a squeal and a flash of dark hair, and then her best friend from college - oh god, her best friend that she hadn't talked to in far too long - was squeezing the air out of her lungs in a tight embrace. Feeling tears in her eyes, she looked over at her brother.

"Well, Emma, sorry we missed you. Thought you were getting here at four, but we hurried home as soon as we saw your text...God, it's good to see you, little sis," David Nolan smiled.

Once hugs and greetings were exchanged, David spied Killian's black leather jacket on the coat rack. "Oh, Jones is here? Did you scare him off?"

Emma snorted. "Ha. That drunk lout hit on me like a creep after messing up an eggnog recipe. He said he was passing out until you all got here."

"Really? That seems really unlike - oh shit, what's today?" Once Mary Margaret confirmed the date, David sighed. "Sorry, Emma. It's just...it's the anniversary of his fiancee passing away and when he hurt his hand."

"His hand?"

Mary Margaret raised her eyebrows sympathetically, "Oh, Emma, you didn't notice? He can hardly use his left hand. It was nearly amputated five years ago, and Killian's had a hard time regaining functionality…"

"Oh." Emma's face was uncertain even as her voice hardened, "well, that's no excuse to get drunk and hit on strangers."

David sighed (he really had hoped his best friend and sister would get along) and told her, "No, I suppose not. Just give him a break for today, all right?"

"I'll try."

A couple hours later, dinner had been demolished and it was time for dessert.

Emma retrieved the rum balls. "Here we go! Better than rotten eggnog, yes?" She aimed a glare in Killian's direction.

"Good for you! You bested me. I can count the amount of people who've done that on one hand," Killian smirked a bit weakly and popped a rum ball into his mouth.

Emma's only response was to roll her eyes.


End file.
